Falling in Love

This wasn’t written to keep you in suspense – honest. But time was against us.

The good news is that Bussie is in love. The bad news is that he’s still not eating.

The object of his affections is, I would say, in her mid thirties with a very expensive looking wedding ring, (platinum at a guess), long dark hair, chocolate brown eyes and hands that stroke and beguile. She’s called Helena.

Green coated Helena met us at the vet last night, called, ‘Buster’, and instantly he was angelic submission. Never seen anything like it. It turns out he’s been in a bad fight, is covered in scabs (at least they’ve healed) and has an abscess and a temperature. No wonder he’s off his food.

Of course I was full of remorse that we should have taken him up earlier (particularly given Helena’s wonderful ministrations), but she said that it probably hadn’t made any difference. (I think she was being kind.)

So Bussie had a long term antibiotic jab, another one to reduce pain and anti-inflammatory and she hoped he’d start eating soon. If not, to bring him back on Saturday morning. (I’m going away for the weekend which could be tricky.) I left the vet nearly £50 worse off but glad that he was on the mend.

We got back and – hoorah! – Bussie had a very small bowlful of food. Since then he hasn’t had anything, not even water, so I’m worrying again, but at least he came in and slept on our bed last night (we’re keeping him in till lunchtime as advised by the lovely H, to his silent fury).

We got home then had to feed animals and change before being Taken Out for dinner at the Greenbank, a hotel at the bottom of the hill with a restaurant overlooking the harbour. The reason? A dear friend’s father is staying there and wanted to take his two daughters and us out to celebrate his birthday, which was last night. Well – how could we refuse? (And why would we?)

We were a bit late as Himself had to have several Large Ones before going out, ‘because I’ve been worried about Bussie, Pop.’ As if I hadn’t been. Just before we left, he split his wine all over the paper and over his new trousers. It looked as if he’d wet himself. I snorted unsympathetically while Himself mopped himself up and walked, rather stiff legged, down to the hotel.

We had a wonderful evening (trying not to look at the eye watering prices on the menu) and, fortified by excellent company, wonderful food, and the fact that he’d already had half a bottle of wine, Himself didn’t feel the need to overindulge in wine with dinner, but contented himself with a mere two or three glasses and thoroughly enjoyed himself. There was a moment, towards the end of the evening, when he started singing The Sheik of Arabi, which is always a dangerous moment, but Mel and I quickly shut him up and all was well.

So we didn’t get back till about 10.30 feeling utterly spoilt. It’s a long time since I’ve had such great food (I had beetroot and goats cheese souffle) and the wine was out of this world.

What was even better was that the animals hadn’t fallen out, and Bussie spent part of the night on our bed again. I just have to get him to eat now.

If we win the lottery I’ll take him down to the Greenbank and tempt him there. But I might have a Plan B just in case.